


Screw it

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-16
Updated: 2003-12-16
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Kowalski gets a bee in his bonnet





	Screw it

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Screw it

## Screw it

by Shedoc

Author's website: http://www.moodyblusr.us/shedoc/

Disclaimer: not mine, but maybe Santa will be nice to me?

Author's Notes: this is the first part in a new series that's going really slowly (as in stone cold dead slow).but I'm working on it, ok?

Story Notes: set after COTW and will eventually become slash.but with whom I ain't sayin'!

* * *

Part One - Ray explains some Stuff. 

I am no genius. Don't get me wrong, I'm no dummy either, but when it comes to Universities and book learning...no thanks. Early on I figured that I'd rather be out and doing than sitting still in a room somewhere. This caused a lotta friction between my teachers, my parents, and me but eventually I got out from under and went to the Academy to be a cop. 

That don't mean I hate reading. Especially if it's a true book - ya know, about real events and people doing them. I learned a lot about Nelson Mandela, and Martin Luther King that way, as well as Washington and Patton. I even read some funky thing about the art of war by Tsun Tzu, though the philosophy was kinda hard to follow in some places. I think it was the fact that I'd read books like that, that made Stella think there was more to me than there really was. Either way, when she graduated from college we stopped dating and started cohabitating. 

So there I am - a cop, married to my childhood sweetheart who is smart and beautiful and in love with the image of a cop reading all about the Hundred Years War, or Hilary and Tenzing's climb of Everest - and I figure life don't get any better. 

With Stella's encouragement I take the detective exam and I actually aced it. Suddenly I'm working in Vice, low man on the totem pole so I gotta pull crazy hours and do crazy shit and Stella's not seeing the guy who reads so slowly all those true life books, she's seeing the cop who works all hours of the day and night to - as stupid as this may sound - make things a little safer in his city. 

She left me of course, and I freaked out. She couldn't take the three am calls dragging me away from her bed, or worse yet the occasional call for her to come to the hospital. We fought more often than not, and she stooped low enough to make cracks about my lack of education and all the rest. I let her go, because that was what she wanted and I loved her too much to hurt her by saying no. That didn't mean I didn't keep tabs on her. 

The job at the 2-7 was a head-trip and a half. There was the whole change of identity thing on top of working with a Mountie and a deaf wolf. I was still looking after Stella as best as I could, though she resented the hell out of it if it got in the way of her career or love life. 

Almost from the first minute, Benton Robert Fraser was a huge blip on my scope. Here was a guy that screamed dependable and solid and decent. At first I thought he wouldn't want anything to do with me, but we became buddies pretty quick, and the blips I was getting felt pretty good until I woke up one night screaming his name and had to go change the sheets. I freaked when I realised that I was blipping that way, but got over it after a while. Fraser was oblivious to it and as long as I played it cool we'd be ok - though it was hard to stay in the friendship space when I wanted so much more. The whole thing with the Henry Allen nearly killed me - and I don't mean the bit where I nearly drowned either - and finished off any hope that Frase would ever blip for me in that way. I made sure that I didn't touch him the wrong way and kept the `buddies' front up pretty strongly. He was the only person I could be me in front of, and we were trying to save Vecchio's life, so I made sure I never triggered his radar and left it at that. 

Then Vecchio shows up right after Muldoon and it hits the fan big time. We're chasing our tails from the get go and eventually we end up in the middle of nowhere with a nuclear sub and a whole bunch of very angry Mounties. Muldoon dies in a collapsed tunnel and Frase spends a day recovering from concussion and a mild depression. Anything about his father tends to depress him a little - Robert Fraser had some mighty big skeletons in his closet and it seems unfair that his son should have to deal with them now the man's dead. 

Anyway, we decide together to go look for Franklin and his hand. The newly promoted Corporal Fraser loads me and our supplies into a sled and we head out. We spend six months looking, and I learn an awful lot about survival and trail skills and wilderness. It's so beautiful out here - and Fraser is truly at home. He's relaxed, energetic and alive in a way that Chicago never saw. He is beautiful in his happiness and I do everything in my power to keep that glow of his alive. 

We don't spend the whole six months looking - we keep getting distracted by poachers and smugglers and one time we caught a guy siphoning information off the internet - of all things - and selling the information to rivals of the companies he'd hacked. 

The most important thing I learned is that Benton Robert Fraser belongs out in the clean wilds, not in the pollution of Chicago. So when we finally give it up and head for Yellowknife I make a point of encouraging him to talk about postings out here and places he could maybe apply for. I'm headed for the 2-7, Welsh made sure I knew there was a place there for me to come back to, so I talk about how we'll spend our last night together in Canada and what we'll do when I come back for my next vacation next year. 

At first, Fraser is a little unsure about all this and I have to be careful that he don't feel like I'm trying to get rid of him. I remind him that we can call and write to each other, but that Chicago was a nightmare for him and out here he is free. In the end he makes his peace with it all and I manage to get on the damn plane back to Chicago without embarrassing him or myself. 

I had toyed with the idea of telling him how I really felt and staying in Canada with him, but the day we got to Yellowknife he ran into an old sweetheart and sparks flew everywhere. I discovered I love him more than I ever loved Stella and kept my feelings to myself, letting him see I was happy he was happy and left it at that. He'd get news of his posting after I got to Chicago and he'd promised to tell me where he'd be. 

After the clean air and world I'd been living in, Chicago was like a slap in the face. I didn't tell him that, though, merely wrote about the job and the weird things I came across that he'd be interested in. Sometimes there was news about Frannie or the 2-7 to pass on, sometimes I'd heard about Vecchio and I passed that on too. They were friends and even though Vecchio had married Stella I didn't want Frase to feel that I wasn't coping with it all. 

His letters were rare and sporadic. They were usually short, and discussed mostly Dief and the area around Punishment Pass - which was where he'd ended up. He mentioned a colleague very rarely, and his work even less. Despite all that his letters were warm and full of interest about Chicago, so I kept writing long letters to him, even looking stuff up in the paper to tell him when I ran out of my own stories. 

I was miserable, even the arrival of Frannie's babies and their decided attraction for Uncle Ray - six babies, one mother and Ma Vecchio equalled a lot of work and I was still thinking of Frannie as my little sister - didn't do much more than provide me a lot of fodder for the letters and some snapshots as well. There was a Benton namesake there as well as a Stanley, and I was kinda soft on those two in particular, though little Louisa would only settle for me when she was over tired. 

It never crossed my mind that Benton was miserable too. I figured that whatever he was doing at Punishment Pass was some kind of classified thing - maybe he was working with the Ice Queen in Intelligence or something - so when he wrote me that one time, not long after the photo's of the babies arrived, I was scared to find a note of real misery running through the short letter. 

Scared enough to call the post at Punishment Pass with the number that Turnbull got for me. Yeah, the poor guy was still at the Consulate, working with a very junior Mountie that was even trippier than him, and a boss that was colder than the Ice Queen and a guy to boot. I made it my job to drop by now and then and take him out to a meal or hang out and watch curling with him - the game was strangely addictive after a while. He was surprised to hear that Fraser was at Punishment Pass, but wouldn't say why. 

The call to Fraser was short and not so sweet. I could hear he was trying to be cheerful for me, but he left so much unsaid that in the end I went out on a limb and told him that if he ever needed somewhere to stay there would always be a place for him in Chicago. 

Which explains why I am now waiting at the airport for the man to get off his flight and come home with me. Tomorrow the crazy man will resume his post at the Consulate and I'll start biting my tongue so I don't ask him why the holy hell he left the one place he was truly at home. 

* * *

Part two - Ray and Fraser settle in. 

Fraser shouldered his carry on luggage and moved through the empty plane. He went through the usual checkpoints, collected his luggage and moved to the final barrier. Ray's hair and smile caught his eye immediately and he smiled in relief. His friend had many skills, but the ability to disguise the feelings that showed in his eyes was not one of them. Ray was happy to see him, and the welcome in the exuberant hug he was greeted with was not faked. For a long moment he allowed himself to be held tightly, to be touched. 

"Good flight?" Ray grabbed a bag, ignored Fraser's protests and headed for the exit, "When do we get Dief?" 

"In a weeks time, and yes, it was a good flight. Thank you kindly," Fraser let the Chicago flatfoot steer him through the crowd with a hand on his shoulder, flinching a little at the pollution in the car park, but resigning himself to becoming accustomed to it. 

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I got back," Ray grimaced in sympathy, unlocking the GTO. Fraser blushed a little, but his friend didn't seem to notice. They were in the car and halfway to Ray's apartment before Fraser realised their destination. 

"Ray..." he frowned, "I believe I asked you to procure a place for Diefenbaker and myself." 

He did not intend to stay in the Consulate this time, nor would he allow himself to be dependent on Ray's hospitality - he knew himself well enough to realise that he would not move out unless Ray kicked him out. His friend was very dear to him - he had a safe harbour with Stanley Raymond Kowalski in a way that no one - not even his family - had ever given him. They were so opposite in some ways that their friendship had been even more unlikely than the one he had struck up with Raymond Vecchio. 

"I did," Ray replied lightly, "The people in the one bedroom place down the hall got pregnant and moved out to a bigger place. I got the lease for you." 

Which had been a lifesaver for Ray, because if Fraser moved into his tiny spare room it would make not jumping the guys bones a lot harder. Fraser was his friend and didn't need to be stalked by Ray-the lust-monster in his own home. This way they had neutral corners to retreat to. 

"Ah," Fraser settled back, catching the grin on Ray's face out of the corner of his eyes, "Thank you Ray." 

"Hey, it's buddies," Ray shrugged, still grinning goofily over that Fraser-habit that could express so much, "And that way you'll be able to leave Dief at home if ya need a night out or something - he can stay with me." 

"Are you proposing joint custody?" Fraser asked in amusement, and missed the tiny flinch Ray made at the choice of words. Ray wanted to do some proposing all right, and the custody of Diefenbaker was only a very small part of it. 

"Kinda," Ray replied, "I know he's not a pet, but at the same time..." 

"He needs a safe place to go to, should I be unavailable," Fraser finished, "That is very thoughtful of you, Ray." 

Ray squirmed and shrugged it off in typical style. Thankfully, they had reached the apartment block and Ray could concentrate on parking and then showing his friend to his new place, handing over the keys with a flourish and walking in behind his friend. 

"Frannie helped me get it ready when the babies were asleep," Ray told the stunned Mountie, "The furniture's from Goodwill, and we got ya a tea kettle and stuff. There's some food too - to tide ya over." 

"This is too much," Fraser protested, looking at the comfortable couch, tables and chairs. The apartment was a mirror image of Ray's and in the bedroom there was a sturdy double bed, covered with a quilt. A dresser sat in the corner and the footlocker that Fraser had shipped down sat at the end of the bed in its accustomed place. There were towels in the bathroom and his favourite tea in the kitchen cupboard. One of Ma Vecchio's casseroles sat in the refrigerator. 

Ray was leaning on the back of the couch, smiling a little uncertainly. Fraser came to stand in front of him; so grateful he couldn't express it. His partner understood though, and wrapped him in another hug. Fraser held on tight for a long time. 

* * *

Ray noticed over the next week that Fraser was more...open to being touched than he had before. Not that the guy had been shouting hands off before, or anything, he just seemed to enjoy hugs more than he had. He also sat close to Ray on the couch - in both their apartments - and was eager to hold Frannie's babies, often two at a time. He'd lost a little weight and there seemed to be something dragging at his heels, his movements seemed a little...heavy, like someone had tied weights to his wrists and ankles. 

All this openness and... availability was all well and good, but Ray was finding it a little too close to home. He loved the guy and wanted to touch him a whole lot more. It was like an exquisite torture devised particularly for him. The one night he gave in and fell asleep on Fraser's shoulder, cuddling up close, Fraser had simply held him. They woke early on the couch, laughed a little and separated to go to their own beds. 

Dief provided a very handy barrier - once he got over being made to sit through quarantine yet again. Despite Fraser's disapproval, Ray had come to the airport prepared for that little contingency with donuts, which the half wolf accepted with grateful whines and licks. 

"Ray...we really shouldn't encourage this addiction," Fraser protested and Ray grinned at him, getting up from where he'd been cuddling the wolf in commiseration. 

"I won't over feed him, Frase," Ray promised and the Mountie decided to leave it at that. They piled into the car and Ray headed for the Consulate where Fraser was due to start duty in an hour's time. 

Things at the Consulate had not improved in Fraser's absence. Turnbull had stepped into his place as the liaison officer and Ray had done his best to help sort out the tangles that Renfield got into. They had gained a second Mountie, to keep up the numbers at the Consulate, and the young man had found it difficult to settle into the demands of his job and the city. This was his first posting, and it was obvious he'd been sent to Chicago because they didn't know what else to do with him. His name was Peter Parker and his French was flawless. His English was not. In the last week, there had been an outburst of passionate French each day - twice while dealing with American citizens inquiring about Canada. 

With Fraser's arrival, Turnbull had requested and received permission to step down from his post as liaison officer. He had joined Parker in the clerical side of the Consulate, leaving Fraser to deal with their new Inspector as well as the Chicago PD. The PD was no problem - the people at the 2-7 had welcomed him back heartily. The Inspector was another kettle of fish entirely. 

Inspector Robert Duncan was a cold man, who expected perfection in everything. Fraser found that no problem - his reports were always detailed and completed in a timely manner. It was the way the Inspector expected the staple or clip in the report to be equidistant from the corner of the report - and Fraser had watched the man measure it - or the way the offices and the Consulate had to be laid out in an exacting geometric pattern that wore on the nerves. All three Constables had taken to carrying tape measures in order to ensure that things were in their proper place. 

He hadn't told Ray about this little quirk of his superior officer. Escaping to the controlled chaos of the 2-7 was a blessed relief after the over weaning rigidity of the Consulate, and Ray was always glad to see him too. Visiting Frannie and her babies was also a relief - the noise and disorder were actually soothing to Fraser after one of Duncan's little snits. 

Fraser had forgotten, however, that Ray was a detective, and it didn't take long for him to notice that things at the Consulate were not quite right. He later confessed to Fraser and Turnbull that he'd thought the extra neat way the place was set out was due to Turnbull trying to emulate Fraser's example of proper preparation, and taking it one step too far. Turnbull accepted his apologies on that occasion gracefully. 

Inspector Duncan disapproved highly of Ray Kowalski. The Chicago detective was an affront to everything the Inspector held dear. His hair was never the same two days running, his clothes were often crumpled and creased and untucked. His speech was heavily tainted with slang and appalling grammar, not to mention his misuse of words. His attitude was positively alarming - the man didn't worry at all about punctuality or presentation of his work or himself, and he made the most casual arrangements Duncan had ever seen. 

In order to cope with the very embodiment of Chaos that Ray represented, Duncan adopted the simple policy of pretending the man didn't exist. He never responded to Ray's friendly - and later sarcastic - greetings, and if circumstances absolutely pressed him to respond to the mans comments he would address his replies to someone else, or the furniture. Ray, of course, found this highly amusing, but didn't push the deal too far, not wanting Fraser and Turnbull to suffer because of him. 

That didn't stop him from trick or treating the Consulate at Halloween, arriving with his hair slicked down and parted with geometric precision, a suit and tie that was flawless and a BBC accent and diction that he'd been practicing in private for weeks. Constable Parker was fortunately in his office, but Turnbull and Fraser got the full effect, as well as watching Duncan's eyes light up in admiration for the `stranger' in the foyer of his Consulate. Ray saw which way the wind was blowing and took both Turnbull and Fraser out to dinner, letting them have the Mountie version of hysterics in his car. He kept the act up through dinner, but broke down during dessert. Fraser seemed to loose some of the lead in his limbs after that. 

* * *

Part Three - Things reach critical mass. 

Things kinda limped along for a while. Frase cheered up after Halloween. Turnbull started tagging along a little more, but that was cool `cos he helped distract me from wanting to make like a crazed mink with Fraser. Neither man was happy and I was rapidly getting pissed at the mother ship back in Canada. Turnbull was an efficient man; sure he was a little nuts, but then again we all had our idio something's. And Frase! He deserved so much better - just `cos the guy had the guts to turn in a traitor and murderer was no reason to trap him in exile like this. 

It hit the fan in summer. Neither Turnbull or Frase were suited for a sizzling hot Chicago summer - that extra layer of fat became a handicap instead of an advantage. Both guys were limp and wilted - Frase's hair dared to curl and flop and generally misbehave, and Turnbull went a very nasty dirty white colour. That idiot Inspector Duncan wouldn't let him off work until I got my buddy Weirzbaski to certify him unfit for duty. I installed the guy in my apartment with the air con on full and he lay out on the couch for a week, barely able to do more than drink the liquids I left for him and drag himself to the bathroom. 

Weirzbaski was an old buddy from my days on foot patrol. I stopped a hopped up kid from gutting him with his own scalpel one night while I was in the ER with Stella - she'd just fallen off her heels at one of the dinners her career needed and sprained an ankle. I heard the commotion and grabbed the kid before he could do any damage, but not before the little shit sliced me pretty good while lunging for the doc, and to cut a long story short Weirzbaski got some idea that he owed me. 

Anyway, deprived of one of his toy soldiers Duncan put Frase on guard duty outside in the worst heat we'd had in ten years. Being such a stand up guy - no pun intended - Fraser did as he was told without a word of complaint. I go to pick him up at the end of the day and there he is, the Serge soaked through with his sweat, his tongue swollen so bad he couldn't talk. I don't think he could see me but he sure as hell heard me. 

The poor guy hung on to me like I was some kinda lifeline as I pulled him into the GTO and called Weirzbaski to meet me at the apartment. Once he was in the front seat I pulled his Serge off and tipped some water that had been in the car all day down is throat. I ended up nearly carrying him up the stairs and into my apartment. Turnbull roused as I was dragging Frase through and staggered after to help with the boots and the rest of the uniform before I sent him to let the doc in. I put Fraser in the bath with some tepid water and grabbed the bucket from the kitchen as well as a plastic tumbler for water. One bundle of towels later and I was set. 

Dief had been staying with Turnbull - fur was not ideal for a heat wave and there had been vets on the radio urging people to keep their pets in with the air con on. He was stretched out and balanced on the edge of the tub, whining and trying to get to Frase who was curled up in the bath, whimpering. I reached over the wolf and pulled the poor mook upright, so he didn't drown. 

He struggled a little until he recognised my voice, then he curled up against my shoulder. Even butt naked and fried into goo the man was ripped and I felt kinda bad that I was looking when he was so sick. I stopped looking pretty quickly though, 'cos Frase started out sick and got sicker as he coughed up everything he'd eaten this year and more. Weirzbaski arrived as I was cleaning him up and sponging water over his poor cooked head. Frase wasn't making any sense at all at this point and clinging to me pretty damn hard, like I was the only thing he had in the world. 

It just about broke my heart - I love the guy so much and there was no way I could tell him that. But when he was so sick like this he needed me so bad...and I was more than up to the challenge of giving him whatever he wanted. I just knew that when he was better I would have a hard time letting him go back to being the independent, self reliant man that he showed to the rest of the world. 

Anyway, Weirzbaski took Frase's temp and all kinds of shit and stayed with us until he was out of danger. He was a real johnny on the spot for us - running for supplies and stuff when we discovered that Frase wouldn't let go of me for a second. He even called Welsh for me to report what was going on. Welsh okayed my leave for an indefinite period and asked Weirzbaski for an official statement. He intended to go to the mother ship with this stuff - no one abused a fellow law officer in this town and got away with it while Welsh was on duty. 

I ended up with an apartment full of sick Mounties. Frase was in my bed, still firmly attached to me and not letting go any time soon, and Turnbull was on my couch, watched over by Dief. With Frase down, Turnbull was rallying fast - I guess he wanted to be sure that the Consulate wasn't left to the tender mercies of the baby Mountie Parker. 

At about the third day Turnbull came in and lay on the bed beside Frase while I went to shower my stinky self and make a run for more food. We'd been eating a lot of cold soups and salads lately and while Frase was out but restless I made sure we had some pasta salad and potato salad to keep up the carbohydrates, as well as some hard-boiled eggs ready to shell. Serving hot food was not an option for these guys - their appetites vanished at the first hint of heat. Between us, Turnbull and I changed the sheets on the bed, working around an increasingly cranky Fraser. Once all that was done I resumed my post on the floor beside him and started rubbing his arm and kinda singing to him - turns out he likes Bruce Springsteen if I was the one singing it and who was I to deny him that comfort. Turnbull stayed on the bed too; wiped out by the sheet changing and I got all steamed again. 

They deserved better than this! There had to be some way to get them both a decent posting in Canada somewhere. Frase had gone above and beyond in his service to Canada and Turnbull was a good guy once you got past the tendency to babble. If the mother ship didn't recognise the facts then maybe it was time they left and did something else. They both loved their country - they could run one of those adventure/hunting lodge thingies, showing Canada to tourist and school groups and the like, and teaching them to mush and hike and stuff. They had the qualifications; it was just a matter of getting them to accept the idea and set things up. It wouldn't hurt to plant a few seeds now, so I looked over at Mountie Number Two. 

"Renfield, tell me about Punishment Pass," I say it quietly, while I'm patting sweat off Frase with a towel. He's still got a slightly elevated temperature, and he's sweat so much he's lost a bit of weight. He's still beautiful though, and my mind is storing this for when I'm alone again. 

"It's...a maximum security prison," Renfield told the ceiling reluctantly, and I sigh, nodding. I'd figured that the post was no picnic. They'd punished him again without making it look that way - the end of the exile was just really the start of another. 

"Let me guess - the worst of the worst go there, huh?" I sigh and Turnbull nods sadly, "I figured it might be like that. No wonder he came back here." 

"There are times when I find myself questioning the ways my superiors have handled the Corporal," Turnbull confesses softly and I bite back a gasp of shock - from Turnbull that was the equivalent of peeing on the flag or something. That comment only tells me I've got the right idea - these two need to go home. It's gonna kill me to watch them leave, but it's gotta be done. 

* * *

Fraser's first concrete memory of the heat wave was the sound of Ray singing softly. There was something immensely comforting about the rough croon - so unlike Fraser's own clear tenor. Over the course of a few days he became more aware of his surroundings and the presence of both Turnbull and Diefenbaker. He was in Ray's bed, his partner seated on the floor beside him, crooning and patting his skin with a small towel, blotting the last of the moisture left over from the sponge bath Ray had just given him. 

"Ray?" Fraser frowned and his partner smiled gently, the light in his eyes breath takingly beautiful. 

"He lives!" Ray chuckled, "Here, sit up a bit." 

He hauled the weakened Mountie up on the pillows a little more and then held a glass of sports drink to Fraser's lips. The Mountie gulped it down eagerly and Ray chuckled again before fetching more. Fraser was incredibly thirsty and the liquid felt so good, though the taste was awful. 

"Electric lights," the non-sequitor puzzled Fraser for a moment, then his brow cleared. Electrolytes. His were low and Ray was ensuring he replenished them. 

"How long was I out?" Fraser asked, still feeling too limp to niggle at the wrong words. Ray sighed and sat on the edge of the bed warily, watching to see if Fraser was going to grab for him like he had before. Apart from shifting so his thigh touched Ray's hip, Fraser didn't make any sudden movements. 

"Four days all told. I got a friend of mine - he's a doctor - to come and help me out, an' Turnbull has been helpin' too. Ya scared the livin' crap outta me Benton buddy. Welsh gave me th' time off, an' he's gone straight to the mother ship on this one. Duncan has no call at be treatin' th' two of ya like dis." 

Fraser took his friends hand and held on tight. There was genuine fear and upset in Ray's voice - Fraser's illness had scared him. Ray gave his partner a shamed grin and straightened up a little. He squeezed the hand wrapped around his and then got up. 

"I'll get yer something else ta drink," Ray told him and headed out to the kitchen, telling Turnbull that Fraser was awake and aware as he went. He called Weirsbaski as well, and the doctor agreed to come to the apartment to check Fraser over again. All holy hell was breaking loose at the Consulate about this, and the Chicago PD was running regular patrols past the building to ensure that Parker wasn't being made to stand in the heat either. 

Back in the bedroom and Turnbull and Fraser were talking quietly. Fraser's skin had gone a grey colour and his hair was lank and hanging in dispirited clumps. He looked like shit and Ray made a mental note to shave the guy and maybe get him in the shower for a good rinse as well. He was greeted with smiles from both Mounties, and Ray grinned back, relieved to see both men looking sober and competent. As soon as he had a little time to himself he was going to start researching their alternatives. Maybe it was arrogant of him to assume that he knew what they needed or wanted, but Ray was just genetically incapable of sitting idly back when someone he cared about needed his help. They could always turn down his suggestions - at least then he'd know that he had tried. 

* * *

Fraser was up and steady on his feet by the time Ray had finished his research. Because there was a market for adventure/tourist/convention companies it hadn't been too hard to get the data the cop thought he'd need to sell this idea to the two Mounties. There was no worry that the two men wouldn't be able to work together - to know them was to be irritated with them on an almost daily basis, but they were long used to each others working styles. 

Turnbull was back on duty at the Consulate - and the PD was still running a patrol past there to ensure that no one was standing sentinel duty. The heat had dropped a little, but it was still fierce by Canadian standards. Fraser had yet to move back to his own apartment, and Turnbull continued to crash on Ray's couch. The detective wasn't going to send anyone home alone, especially as Fraser still got a bit wobbly at the end of the day and Turnbull was often wrung out by his duties as well. The detective was back on duty as well, which resulted in some very late hours as he waited until the two Mounties were asleep in his air-conditioned bedroom to cook up the ingredients for the next day's meals. Then he took the couch for the remainder of the night. He had taken over the wolf walking duties, using the trips to go shopping for food that would tempt the two very picky heat depressed appetites that he was faced with. Ma Vecchio was also sending care packages, which helped take some of the pressure off. Unfortunately Frannie was the delivery girl, and she was an exhausting visitor for Fraser. 

The first weekend he had totally free, Ray pulled the research out and sat his two `patients' down on the couch with the iced tea and fruit snacks he regularly foisted on them. Fraser was in the t-shirt and boxers that was all that Ray would let him wear - too many layers and his temperature would climb again - and Turnbull was similarly attired, though he wore cotton shorts. Both of them were barefoot and the sight of two very relaxed Mounties had Ray mentally reaching for his camera. 

"Okay," Ray sat cross-legged on the floor; totally missing the very interested look his partner gave him. Dief came to sit beside him, evidently hoping for a snack too. Ray gave the wolf a piece of orange and leaned forward to spread his research on the coffee table. 

"This might piss ya off, but I've been thinkin' an' I got some stuff I want ya both at think about..." Ray's nerves were evident and Turnbull frowned. 

"Ray," he interrupted, "I cannot imagine any suggestion you make would be unreasonable. Over the last few weeks you've gone above and beyond the auspices of simple friendship. I owe you a great debt of gratitude..." 

"No ya don't. That's just buddies, Ren. I know that if it were me, yer'd be here in a flash, helpin' out," Ray waved it off, he hadn't played nursemaid to make them feel like they owed him anything, "I just don't want ya's to think I'm bein' nosy or somethin' okay?" 

"Of course we will hear you out, Ray," Fraser promised, wondering what was going on in that quicksilver mind of his partner. Whatever it was, it was sure to be aimed at the comfort and well-being of his friends. Ray was the most giving and selfless person Fraser knew. 

"Okay," Ray nodded, "Well, it's just that I been thinkin' about yer both livin' here in the city. I mean, we all know that yer'd rather be out in the wilds of Canada - Ren, I seen ya out there, and Frase too - it was the happiest I've ever seen yer both. It sucks that yer stuck here, an' I gotta tell ya guys, I don't think the Mother Ship is ever gonna get a clue and let ya go to the kinda post where yer'll be happy. Th' only way yer'll ever get home is if yer leave the service, an' meanwhile yer stuck workin' fer idiots and livin' in a place yer hate." 

"I take it you are proposing an alternative?" Fraser had no trouble following his partner - Ray was plotting something. As much as the thought of leaving the service hurt, Fraser had to honestly admit he was tired of being punished for being all he could be. 

"Yeah," Ray's nerves flared up again, "Look, yer've both got skills that flourish out in the wilderness, and there's no way either of ya are gonna be happy behind a desk. So I looked into the possibility of starting yer own business." 

"Doing what?" Turnbull asked. He was not as adept at anticipating Kowalski's thought processes, despite their time as liaison officers between the Consulate and the PD. 

"Running an adventure company. Offering tours of the wilds to tourists and hunting parties. Maybe opening up a kinda bed and breakfast as well as conference centre out in the wilds where people can come for a bit of that frontier experience. Teachin' kids from the city to mush and track and stuff. Show off the country a bit," Ray got it all out in one rush, and then sat back a bit, looking at the floor and ruffling Dief's fur lightly. The wolf was lying with his head in Ray's lap, sensing the other man's distress and wanting to comfort him as much as possible. 

The silence stretched out as the two men on the couch thought it over, seeing not only the carefully tailored alternative offered to counteract the sting of leaving the corps, but the genuine concern and affection that had moved Ray to risk their anger and rejection which such a proposal could engender. They appreciated that Ray had laid it all out and then was willing to sit quietly while they considered their response. 

"That's...thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser stirred after a very long moment, "There are some very appealing elements in..." 

"Yes," Turnbull took up the slack, recognising that Fraser had retreated to formality to cover his feelings, "If I were ever to leave the service, I would look for a career similar to the one you have suggested." 

Ray nodded, hearing a rejection in the making and resigning himself to watching the guy he loved and a very good friend slowly pine away in a city they hated. Turnbull was leafing through the material on the table - lists and properties and requirements for permits and so on as well as budgets and studies that showed the overlapping interests of each area. Ray had carefully chosen places that had a large enough town to support their venture with properties available for sale that were just far enough out for potential customers to feel that they were really `camping'. Each place had a good piece of land attached to it and sufficient buildings that could be adapted to their purpose. There was also a list of the permits that would be required for the work - both personal and structural. 

Fraser was going over the files as well - there were five in all, with accompanying pictures and contacts - and he looked up at his friend, impressed by the effort that had gone into this research. Ray hated paperwork, and was always slow to start the hated task, though he always completed it to a professional standard. Ray was apparently completely absorbed in ruffling Dief's fur and the wolf was a blissed out puddle in his lap. 

Turnbull handed a folder to Fraser with a significant look. The senior Mountie had to suppress a gasp. The contents were perfect - a piece of land on the edge of his father's old territory, set in a community that was looking to expand into the tourist industry. The forty-acre property was ten miles from town and had one of its borders along the shore of the natural lake that was nestled in the mountains. There were woodlands and open plains that would be glorious snowfields in winter. There were five large structures on the land already, with an additional cabin, though they all needed work. There was a good road into the town, and the distance wasn't too far for a sled team in the winter. 

"My uncle left me an amphibian aircraft - and I have kept my license up. The town already has a charter service - we would be able to hire our services to augment the already existing services," Turnbull said, a real note of excitement in his voice. 

"I know a little about the area, and Sergeant Frobisher is posted not too far away - we would have good relations with the outpost there," Fraser nodded, "The price for the land is not exorbitant, and between us the renovations to the property would not be unmanageable." 

"So yer'll think about it?" Ray asked hopefully and both men nodded solemnly at him. 

"It is a very attractive proposition," Turnbull's smile was eager, and Ray relaxed a little in relief. So far so good, and he'd make sure to come out and visit as often as he could - maybe save his leave up to make the visit a good long one each year. 

* * *

Part Four - Benton and Renfield organise an abduction - sort of. 

I look up at the sound of Mountie boots and grin when I realise that Frase and Ren have both arrived to take me to lunch. It's been a month since I gave them my research and they've been fairly quiet about it since then - any plans they're making have been mercifully outta my sight. There's a very selfish part of me that wishes they'd said no to my idea and stayed in Chicago where I could see them every day. Unfortunately the beauty of a plan like mine means that men like themselves are wanted for the job - the Chicago flatfoot with experimental hair need not apply. I got nothing to really offer them, even if I did get pretty good at the wilderness stuff on the quest. Pretty good just ain't gonna cut it. 

"We've come to take you to lunch, Detective," Ren says all manners and politeness, his hands behind his back at parade rest or something. I grin at them and stuff the file I was working on back into the tray on my desk. Since the heat wave broke they've both been back at work, though I keep a close eye on them. It's still summer after all and that means heat no matter how you look at it. 

"Well thank you kindly, Constable," I say back, just as polite and get that little twinkle from Ren, which I've always taken to mean `laughing on the inside'. I get up and throw on the loose shirt I wear over my tee to disguise the shoulder harness in public, catching a little shudder from them both. The idea of adding a layer in summer makes them both pale now. 

"Where we goin'?" I ask to distract them, "And where's the wolf?" 

"Diefenbaker is currently keeping Constable Parker company at the Consulate - he was not inclined to venture into the midday heat," Fraser tells me and I nod. The poor animals in a fur coat - and no matter how much he sheds it's gotta be murder on him in summer. 

They fall in either side of me as we stroll out of the building and Fraser points towards one of the diners down the road. I nod happily - they do salads and stuff, which the Mounties will probably want, and I can get a burger. They're still picky in their meals at the moment and probably will be until winter hits again. We stroll down, get a booth and sit. Ren finally has to bring his hands out from parade rest and I realise he's got a folder in them. It's pretty thick and I recognise my writing on the front. 

"You guys finalised yer plans then?" I nod at the file, and then have to pause so we can all order. Once the waitress is on her way to the counter Ren opens the file and pulls out some forms. 

"Almost, Ray," he tells me, "There are a few papers that need your signature of course, and there's..." 

"Wait a minute," I interrupt rudely, "My signature?" 

"You could hardly expect to obtain a working Visa for the duration of the venture, Ray. We're looking at a minimum of ten years, and Canadian working visa's just don't last that long," Frase is looking at me funny, "You'll need to apply for citizenship. We've started the preliminary procedures, and I see no problems in obtaining ..." 

"Hold up a minute Frase," I put up a hand, "I don't think we're on the same page here. Yer talking like I'm coming with ya." 

"Yes," Frase is mercifully brief, glancing at Ren. Ren looks like he's just been proven right about something and Frase is getting steamed, so I shake my head. 

"Guys, yer don't need dead weight like me along. I don't..." 

"You are not dead weight," Ren interrupts in his turn and I gape at him. They're both frowning at me pretty severely and I wonder where things went wrong. 

"Ya need a partner that knows the wilderness and has the same skills as yer both," I point out. 

"Actually Ray, that isn't correct," Frase is at his most pissy and I fold my arms stubbornly, hitting him with the old `oh yeah?' glare. 

"We need a partner that can cook well, maintain machinery, mush, back us up in the field and learn quickly. You are capable of all those things," he ignores the glare, "When you first put the proposal to us, both Ren and myself assumed that you would be accompanying us. Certainly we wouldn't dream of enacting this plan without you." 

"Why not?" the question slips out before I can stop it. Ren chuckles at me and leans forward. 

"Because you are our friend and ...without wishing to sound overly sentimental, you are our inspiration. As gratifying as it would be to return home, the thought of leaving you behind to stifle in the city is anathema to us both." 

"All together or not at all," Frase sums it up and I shake my head. Dumb Mounties are willing to give up their freedom for a green horn flatfoot. 

"That's blackmail," I tell them and get smug Mountie looks directed at me. Truth told, Chicago is not as comfortable as it used to be - the quest spoiled me. I could quit being a cop as long as I had something to fall back to - something that didn't require sitting on my butt all day. If I went with them I could pretty much guarantee that I wouldn't be doing much sitting around. 

"If you don't give in we will simply forge your signatures and then forcibly relocate you," Turnbull threatens and I laugh - they probably would too. 

"You may be American, Ray, but you are Canadian at heart," Fraser tells me and I scowl at him. 

"Those are fighting words, Benton," I tell him and hold out a hand for a pen. I get two very relieved and happy grins as I sign where I'm told. The food arrives and Ren puts the forms away. We eat rapidly and make a plan to meet for dinner at Fraser's before I head back to the PD and they head out to the Consulate. 

Only those two could manage to kidnap someone so politely. 

* * *

To be continued in the new year..... 

* * *

End Screw it by Shedoc:

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